What Matters Most
by you-animal
Summary: The first time Phillipa Adams saw the Weasley twins was the amid the busy crowd of people rushing along the platforms of King's Cross Station at the beginning of their first year. Back then, she wasn't really interested in Fred Weasley's gorgeous smile and perfect ass. Now, though, she's pretty sure they'll be the death of her. Fred/OC


The first time Phillipa Adams saw the Weasley twins was the amid the busy crowd of people rushing along the platforms of King's Cross Station.

She'd woken up early that morning, having barley slept anyway, her excitement being so intense that relaxing enough to slip into unconsciousness was practically impossible. Her trunk had been packed for days – filled with all the books she would need for her first year at school, many of which she had already begun to devour in her eagerness to delve into such a new world. She'd also packed her robes – _robes! _She had _school robes _now! - and her cauldron, and all the other bits and pieces that had been listed in the letter she'd received. She'd slipped her wand into the pocket of her jacket once she'd dressed so that she could clutch it tightly, press the smooth, hard wood into her fingers whenever she felt that things were simply too good to be real.

Her tiny tawny owl, Twig, was locked up in his travelling cage, his big eyes wide as they watched her pace impatiently around her room. She had originally wanted a cat, but her mother had said that was impractical since without an owl she would have no way of contacting anyone. It didn't really matter in the end – once Phillipa had seen Twig she'd fallen in love. He had nuzzled the finger she poked through the cage happily, so sweet and quiet, and he listened attentively to everything she said and never complained, even when he was jostled horribly in the car. He was her first true friend, despite his habit of stealing her socks for his bedding. As such, he didn't make a fuss as she secured him away and forgot to give him a treat because she was too busy imagining what her school would _look _like, and whether there really would be people riding brooms.

Phillipa had forced down breakfast, though her stomach was too unsettled with a mixture of nerves and uncontrollable anticipation to accept much of her toast. Her mother, Veronica Adams, a thin woman with pale blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, had watched on almost disapprovingly, a slight frown creasing the usually smooth skin between her sharply arching eyebrows. Phillipa had barely noticed, and if she had, it would have done little to dampen her spirits – soon, she wouldn't even have to see her mother anyway.

After all, she was going to _Hogwarts._

It was a blessing, really – which was sad, considering Veronica was the only family Phillipa had. They lived in a larger-than-average house in a richer-than-average suburb of London, and yet things never had been quite as perfect as they seemed. Veronica was a businesswoman with no idea how to be a mother, and the icy, no-nonsense demeanour that had got her so far in her career only succeeded in alienating her from her daughter. She ran her household like she ran her company – strictly, with no tolerance for anything less-than-best. When Phillipa was younger she had been looked after by various nannies, and once she was old enough she had simply been left on her own. Probably something her mother regretted, since with so much time alone Phillipa had been forced to find more inventive means of entertaining herself. This need for creativity combined disastrously with her unique sense of mischief and regularly got her into trouble at school. Something her mother _did not_ appreciate when she had to be called out of important meetings to pick Phillipa up from the Headmaster's office for using tape to switch the signs of the girls and boys bathrooms.

Never, in her life, had Veronica mentioned Phillipa's father. Whenever Phillipa asked, she received a sharp instruction to mind her own business, to go and do something worthwhile for a change, to stop making a nuisance of herself, and so she'd stopped inquiring after a while. But, after learning about what she was, her mother had sighed deeply and informed Phillipa that her father had, in fact, been a wizard.

His name had been John Hollinbrook. Her mother had only known him for six months, after two of them she had become pregnant and that was when John had informed her that he was a wizard. Then, four months later, he disappeared and was never heard from again. Phillipa, of course, had questioned Veronica incessantly until it was clear that if she didn't stop she wouldn't be allowed to have a school pet. Still, Phillipa had lived thus far with no knowledge of her father at all, and so even this briefest of accounts was enough for her.

So really, receiving the letter telling Phillipa that she was a witch and would be going to a school of magic was the best eleventh birthday present she could ever have hoped for. And it did explain why all the books in the classroom and suddenly thrown themselves at Mrs Heminway's head that time she'd (wrongly) accused Phillipa for cheating during the spelling test.

Since then, she'd spent the whole of summer imagining over and over what it would be like, whether all the teachers would wear pointed hats (according to the letter, one was required), what the lessons would be like (she was sure any of them would be more interesting than maths), what food they would eat and where they would sleep. And, in her favourite daydream, when she was older and had become one of the most skilled witches around (because, of course, she _would_), she would meet her father out there in the wizarding world, and he would be happy to see her and so _proud_ of her, like her mother never had been.

And she had been so, so looking forward to this day – the day when she would leave on the train and begin her _new _life, having no problems with leaving her old school behind, since she hadn't had any good friends anyway – but now...

She couldn't find the platform.

"Well, Phillipa?"

Her mother was stood next to her in one of her smart business suits, one hand on her hip, the other smoothing back her already immaculate hair. Phillipa's hair, in contrast, was pulled up into a ponytail of which many of the light blonde strands were already escaping.

"It says it right here!" Phillipa frowned, brandishing the letter, slightly crumpled and worn from many re-readings over the last few weeks, which clearly stated that the train would leave from platform nine and three quarters. "Look!"

"Yes, darling," Veronica said, voice stained and smile stiff. "So you've said. Only, as you can see, that platform does not exist."

"I _know, _Mum." Because she _did _know, because it was _true. _There, right in front of her, was platform nine – and then, next to it, platform ten. With no space in between. Phillipa jolted forward as a man knocked into her in his hurry to get passed, shoving the trolley her trunk sat on, and causing Twig to let out a squawk of shock from his cage. Veronica sent the owl a look of distaste.

"We can't stand here all morning, I'm _already _late for work, and I don't want to waste any more time on this nonsense." Veronica straightened the jacket of her suit and Phillipa scowled. She had a feeling she knew exactly what Veronica was about to say. "There's a policeman over there, sweetie, so why don't you pop on over and ask him? I'm sure he'll know what's going on, and you'll be on your way in no time."

"But, Mum -"

Veronica checked her watch. "I must going. You won't be coming home for Christmas, will you?"

Phillipa blinked, "no? But I -"

"Wonderful," Her mother said briskly, and she gave Phillipa a quick pat on the head – more for public appearances than out of genuine affection. "I will see you at the end of the year then, Philly. And _don't _get into trouble!"

Phillipa watched her mother hurry away, cutting through the crowd with ease. Her face flushed, half in anger at her mother's use of the detestable nickname, and half in embarrassment at being abandoned in the middle of the station. The red blush stood out against the fairness of her skin and the few golden freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. She stuck out her tongue at the retreating figure to make herself feel better, the hand in her pocket gripping her wand tightly.

The wand that had _chosen _her. Because she was a witch. And she was going to Hogwarts. And she was going to learn _magic. _No matter what her mother thought about it.

Phillipa took a deep breath and began to push her trolley toward the policeman who stood leaning against the wall of the Station. After all, it wasn't like her mother hadn't done this before. She was frequently leaving her in shopping malls and the like, mostly because she forgot that she'd told Phillipa to wait somewhere and so left without her. Phillipa was well used to asking for help by now. This policeman looked bored, and for once Phillipa was glad that she was tall as she fought through the crowds to reach him.

"Um, excuse me? Sir?" He turned, peering down at the young girl before him, dressed in jeans and a pale blue jumper, one hand firmly tucked into the pocket of the black coat she wore over the top, the other clutching a trolley that had a trunk and a cage with an owl situated on it. The expression on her face was oddly determined. "I'm looking for platform nine and three quarters but I can't -"

Phillipa broke off. The policeman's face, which had been previously friendly and uninterested, had suddenly turned angry. "Hey, you stop right there." He glowered, jabbing a thick finger at her. "I don't know if you kids are all playing some kind of game, but I'm sick of you wasting my time asking stupid questions about platforms that don't exist! So, you listen-"

Only Phillipa wasn't listening, because, right then, she saw them.

They were bustling through the crowds of people. An older woman led the way, her faded hair covered by a threadbare pointed hat that did not match the equally threadbare cloak clasped around her shoulders. She was gripping the hand of a small girl with bright red hair whose face was crumpled up as she wailed loudly. In fact, all of them shared this unique hair colour – which lead Phillipa to believe they had to be family. Following the woman was a boy who looked a few years older than Phillipa herself and was dressed considerably neater, his hair combed flat. In the rear was a younger boy with a dark scowl fixed on his face, sandwiched in-between two other _identical _boys around her own age who were grinning almost wickedly.

And all three oldest boys were pulling trolleys with trunks just like she was.

"Don't worry, Ronnie." One of the twins was saying.

"You'll be coming, too, in a few years," said the other.

"That is, if you get your letter," continued the first.

"I will get my letter! I'm a wizard, too!" The younger boy insisted.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you'll get a letter," the second twin replied, both of them shaking heir heads sagely with identical serious expressions on their faces.

"There are a lot of wizards, Ronnie - "

"- Can't keep track of them all - "

"- and you _know_ how batty everyone says old Dumbledore is, it's impossible for him to remember everyone -"

" - so sometimes, he forgets - "

"- And then you never get a letter!"

"He does not forget!" The boy, 'Ronnie', said fiercely, his face turning red.

"Does too. That's what people say, isn't it, George?" The first twin looked solemn.

The second twin, George, nodded. "'Fraid so, Ronnie."

They had come to a stop in front of the barrier that separated platforms nine and ten, close enough that Phillipa could still hear them. For a second, 'Ronnie' looked doubtful, his face genuinely worried. Then he turned to the woman, who had been busy trying to calm her daughter down, and tugged on her sleeve. "Mu_uuu_m! Fred and George said that I might not get a letter from Hogwarts because Dumbledore might forget me!"

"Oh, for heavens' sake, Ron! You know better then to believe them by now!" Their mother said, voice exasperated. Ron looked almost ashamed, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. The girl continued to cry. "And you two! How many times do I have to tell you _not_ to tease your brother!"

"Only a bit of fun, Mum," the one Phillipa believed to be Fred, said. The grin she'd seen him wearing earlier was back, his eyes twinkling with mischief. It was contagious; Phillipa felt her own smile grow in response.

"Might as well do it while we can," George shrugged, but his smile was smug. "After all, _we're _leaving for Hogwarts."

Ron scowled again. The girl's wailing reached new levels of despair. The oldest boy watched with a haughty look of distaste that reminded Phillipa oddly of her own mother.

"Really, now, Ginny, this is getting ridiculous!" Their mother said, straightening her hat impatiently, only serving to make it sit more wonkily on her head. "Percy, you go through first, show everyone how to do it. If we don't go now we'll be late!"

"We _have _seen it before Mum -"

"We've come here every year with Percy -"

"And Charlie -"

"And Bill -"

"Oh, be quiet!" Their mother demanded, flapping her hands at the twins. The boy with the neat hair, Percy, stepped forwards, his chest puffed out importantly. The twins rolled their eyes simultaneously, and one muttered something under his breath that made them both snicker. Phillipa strained forward, desperate to be a part of their joke – but was then distracted by the most amazing thing she had ever seen; the Percy boy stepping straight into the barrier and disappearing.

Phillipa gaped.

"Off you go, you two!" The twins moved forward, shared a grin, and then they, too, vanished right as they were about hit the brickwork, shortly followed by their mother and younger siblings. It was, quite honestly, impossible.

It was _magic._

"Young lady? Are you listening?" Phillipa whipped her gaze back to the policeman, who had paused his rant upon realising that his audience was no longer paying attention. His moustache quivered angrily. Phillipa barely noticed, her heart pounding excitedly in her chest. She flashed him a huge, bright smile without really thinking.

"Thank you, sir! Have a good day!"

She threw herself back into the crowd, dragging her belongings with her, sights fixed on that barrier. It was a bit difficult with all the people rushing past, but she managed to line herself up. The wall certainly _looked _solid, and she had no idea whether the family had used a word or phrase to open it. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She would just have to have faith that when she stepped forward she wouldn't be breaking her nose against the brick. And if there was one thing Phillipa believed in, it was magic.

She took the step and opened her eyes.

Before her was a whole new world. People – _witches _and _wizards, _with pointed hats and sweeping robes of every colour – bustled along the platform, dragging trunks with hooting owls, yowling cats, even a _toad, _balanced on top. A bright scarlet steam engine waited next to it, spewing smoke overhead, nearly obscuring a sign that read _'Hogwarts Express 11 o'clock'. _The excitement she'd felt that morning bubbled up again, fizzing under the surface of her skin.

"Oh, _look, _Twig! Isn't it _fantastic!"_

Twig cooed in agreement, hopping a little in his cage as he peered around.

Phillipa pushed her trolley along the platform, searching for a flash of ginger hair. Most of the first carriages were already taken, students of all ages hanging out of windows to talk to their parents. Phillipa didn't notice them, she was already certain of who she wanted to sit by. But where _were _they?

"Hello!"

Phillipa jumped and stopped suddenly, finding herself face-to-face with a pretty, dark-eyed girl who's brown hair was secured into pigtails with two bright red ribbons. Her smile was wide, friendly and open.

"You're a first year, right?" She said brightly, without waiting for Phillipa's response. "Me too! Isn't it _great_? Me and Jessica – she's my friend, our parents were at Hogwarts together – were so worried about getting through the barrier, but it wasn't so bad and I can't _wait_ to get some chocolate frogs on the train – I'm collecting the cards, you see."

"Um," said Phillipa, only half following the conversation, still peering desperately though the crowd.

"Oh! I'm Abigail, by the way. I should have said! My parents always say I get carried away." Abigail continued cheerfully. "Anyway, the train is going to leave in a minute and we – that is, me Jess and some other girls in our carriage - saw you and thought that you might like to sit with us? You _do _look a bit lost!"

Phillipa tried not to frown – it really was nice of Abigail, but the twins... Well, it wouldn't be right to say no, and truthfully she didn't want to end up sitting on her own. "If you don't mind -"

"Of _course _not, silly!"

There was a slight pause – Phillipa wasn't _shy, _but she didn't really have a clue how to make friends. She smiled a little. "I'm Phillipa."

"Nice to meet you!" Abigail beamed. "Come on, I'll get my dad to give us a hand with your trunk. Daddy? Daddy!"

Abigail darted off in search of her father, and Phillipa was left waiting, feeling intensely happy. She'd never had real friends before – she'd hated all the snobby kids that went to the posh school her mother had sent her to before. But, now, at Hogwarts, maybe she _would _have friends. And she would lean magic. It was wonderful, _unbelievable. _It was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

As she climbed into the carriage behind Abigail, Phillipa gave one last glance over platform nine and three quarters, but didn't see a flash of ginger hair anywhere.

* * *

So, Hiya!

The prologue will continue in the next chapter, I just had to split it or it would have been mega long. I'm hoping that updates for this story won't take me too long but I am in the middle of my A-Level year and that means I'm drowning in work.

Thank you for reading, please review!

B.


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